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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964126">They Say Our Days are Numbered, We're Not Famous Anymore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaytheforce/pseuds/jaytheforce'>jaytheforce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Celebrations, Champions, Drinking and Dancing, Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, no more need for dreaming, no more years of hurt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaytheforce/pseuds/jaytheforce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of winning the League.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Milner/Andrew Robertson, Virgil van Dijk/Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Robbo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Most likely they were not at Milly's house, but he looked so comfortable sitting there with his cuppa that it might as well have been.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy – </p><p>Red lights flashing, and the music is blasting as he pushes his way through the crowd. It's taking forever, as he's stopped every few steps for a chat (it's never a chat as much as it is just shouting really closely to the other person's ear) or a high five or a drunken cuddle. Halfway across the makeshift dancefloor, he realises that his quest might be in vain, as he can't spot his unsuspecting victim anywhere. But then again, Virg and Ox are taking up half he space in what can only be described as a dance off. The rest of the lads are clapping along – not entirely in tune to the music because most of them are off their heads. He laughs at the sight, but waves Virg off when he tries to pull him into his sphere. “Not just now, big man”, he all but shouts into the crowd as he tries to move back the way he came. It's not an easy task. In fact, one could almost call it impossible. </p><p>It takes the better part of half an hour before he's safely on the other side of the room again, and he can already feel the sweat building up. He gets his phone out to snap another photo of the boys dancing before moving out of the room altogether. There is nothing about this night that he wants to forget. Feeling suddenly thirsty, he heads for the kitchen in search of a beer. The word keeps echoing around in his head (<i>'beer', 'beer', 'beer', 'beer'</i>) and he's sure it won't go away until he's fulfilled the request. Only... he can't quite remember the way to the kitchen. Can't even remember whose house they're at, if he's completely honest with himself. </p><p>After a few false starts, he does manage to locate the kitchen. As soon as he spots the fridge, he heads straight for it and dives in to retrieve a can. It's not until he's cracked it open and taken a swig that he realises that he's not alone in the room. He nearly spits out his mouthful at the initial shock, but manages not to. No point wasting perfectly good beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before moving closer to the kitchen table. “I've been looking for you.” Brown eyes meeting blue. Taking in the scene in front of himself, he moves over to the table, unable to help but let out a laugh (no filter due to the drink taken and all of that) at what he sees. “What is this?”, he asks with another laugh, pulling out a chair for himself and he leans over to look into the mug on the table. “We win the League and you're having a tea?” He can practically feel his own eyes rolling around in their sockets at the predicted <i>'I like tea'</i> that's coming from Milly. It takes great effort, but he manages not to repeat the movement as he shifts closer to the other man. “Can I have a kiss, then? I just won the League, you know.” </p><p>It's soft and slow – neither of them making any effort to hurry things along, and he hums softly against James' lips as he relaxes into it. He shifts, trying to move closer to James without getting out of his seat, while simultaneously keeping the lip lock. They manage just fine for a while, and then he becomes vaguely aware of other people milling into the room. His reflexes are shot at this time of night, so he doesn't pull away from James quickly enough, and when he turns his head towards the door he gets an eyeful of Ox. Virg bumbling in behind him. </p><p>“That's not Trent.” Southern accent. Definitely Ox. He's confused and isn't sure what to say, glancing at Milly before looking back at the pair in the doorway. “What are you on about?” No straight answer, just drunk giggling and nudging of each other. He turns his head around to look at Milly again, redirecting the question to the older man. “I'm pretty sure that they think you're involved with the pup and not me.” Oh. Oh! He whips his head around again to look at the other pair. “You two better know how to keep your mouths shut.” </p><p>He knows there's no way that the guys will keep their newfound wisdom to themselves, absolutely no way since Ox is involved. He isn't sure he's ever met a bigger gossip in his life. It's not that there would be any problem with the rest of the lads knowing about him and Milly, but he prefers keeping private things, well... private. So after he's finished his beer, he manages to coax Milly out of the kitchen. He's not entirely sure where to actually go, but Milly is taking charge and pulls him along to what looks to be a guest bedroom – no photos around and lots of florals on the walls. There's no time to think about the wallpaper though, as Milly quickly attaches his lips to his neck, and he shifts to slip a hand under Milly's top. The only person in the house no longer wearing his custom '19-20 CHAMPIONS' kit. Andy doesn't mind – this top is easier to pull off quickly. Though he's quite drunk at this point, Milly isn't, so their clothes end up on the floor without too much hassle. </p><p>They're moving a lot faster than they were in the kitchen. Not hard to, since their pace in the kitchen could only have been described as glacial. He shifts, leaning up to catch James' lips in another kiss, trying to focus on the here and now and to not let his mind wander. It's too hard to focus though, and he breaks away from the kiss again, looking up at James from his position on the bed. “When do you think we'll get our medals?” A sigh, a kiss to his shoulder, another one to his neck and he tries to relax again, to switch his brain off. Turns out that it's completely impossible. “I want my medal.” James laughs at that, a bit breathlessly due to the fact that he's buried balls deep inside him. “You probably won't see it for a few weeks. Now shut up.” Of course he doesn't shut up, can't now that he's basically been told to be a good boy and wait. Not until James presses their lips firmly together does he stop babbling about his medal. Quicker, rougher thrusts to make sure that he's paying attention. The new pace that James is setting is definitely keeping him on his toes, which helps in shutting his brain off. It doesn't take long before he's a moaning mess beneath him, and he lets out a new series of louder moans as he reaches his climax. </p><p>Strong arms wrap around his waist and he shifts closer, always welcoming a cuddle. He yawns into James' chest, knows it won't take long for him to fall asleep. James has had the decency to pull the blankets over them, though he's not sure when he's had the time to do so. Maybe he's more drunk than he initially thought. “Is this your house, Jimmy?” It's just clicked with him. A chuckle and a squeeze. No protest to the nickname though, so that's progress. “Go to sleep, Robbo.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex – </p><p>Red lights flashing. Laughter all around him that transforms into loudly shouting the music in each other's faces. He's aware that he's bouncing along with the rest of them, of throwing shapes that has never before seen the light of day. It's a magical feeling winning the League. Who would have thought it? He takes another beer when it's offered to him, not even sure where it's come from, and takes a few chugs before moving back to the centre of the dancefloor. He wants to be right in the thick of it, wants to feel it all for days and days. </p><p>“You've got to show me love!”, Virgil all but shouts in his face and he laughs, nearly spitting his beer out on the poor man before he manages to swallow it down. He moves closer to him as he shouts the lyrics back at the defender, throwing his best moves into the mix. Arms and legs moving in sync just as Perrie's taught him – earning him applause and cheers from the rest of the gang. Virgil just cocks an eyebrow at him and starts shifting his body lower while still moving along to the music. Oh, so he's looking for a challenge? That's fine. Alex already knows who's going to win this round. “You're going down, van Dijk!” </p><p>Once Alex has (obviously) been declared the dance off winner, they find a quiet corner to catch their breath. It's clearly just an excuse for a make out session, but none of the other lads seem to miss them too much. “You know I totally just let you win that, right?” Virgil's voice is low against his ear and it's difficult to keep his mind focused on the words when the sound of the other man's voice makes him want to drop trou right then and there. “That's a blatant lie, mate”, is what he settles for, tugging at the hem of Virg's top for added emphasis. </p><p>Another round of dancing later and Alex is yet again declared the winner. He laughs at the look on Virgil's face when Bobby confirms that Alex is the winner, and he shifts to give him a quick smooch to smooth it over. “Calm down, big man.” When that doesn't seem to work, he offers to go find them another drink. As he is reluctant to leave Virg behind, he grabs him by the wrist to tug him along. When they reach the kitchen, he stops dead in his tracks, causing Virgil to bump right into him. He lets out a soft <i>'oh my days'</i> as he spots the kitchen table make out session, and elbows Virgil in the ribs. The other man protests the rough treatment, but goes quiet when he looks over Alex's shoulder into the kitchen as well, letting out a low whistle instead. </p><p>“That's not Trent, is it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Obviously it's not Trent. He's pretty sure that not even Virgil is drunk enough to mistake Trent for the vice captain. He watches in awe as the pair kiss over what looks like a cup of tea – this night is going down as bizzare in his books already. He can feel Virgil trying to surpress his giggles against his own shoulder and he nudges him to get him to keep quiet, not wanting to get caught by Milly and Robbo. Milly and bloody Robbo! The thought of it is enough to make him giggle too, and though he's looking right at the pair by the kitchen table, he's not paying enough attention to hear the words that are coming out of the Scot's mouth. Instead he turns to look at Virg and nudges him again. “Where do you reckon they're hiding all that bubbly?” </p><p>After making their way out of the kitchen again – struggling only slightly due to them both trying to surpress their fits of giggles – they manage to track down the stash of champagne. Alex nabs two bottles while Virgil keeps lookout. No bother, as no one as much as looks their way, and they quickly hurry along to find somewhere to consume their new-found alcohol in peace. They end up in an upstairs bedroom and Virgil quickly makes himself comfortable on the bed, propped up against the pillows. Alex laughs at the sight of him. “You do know you've still got your shirt on back to front, yeah?” </p><p>With a laugh, he pops the first bottle of bubbly open and takes a big swig before moving over to the bed, dangling it teasingly in front of Virgil's face. His intention is to withdraw it before the other man gets a hold of it, but his reactions are too slow and he ends up falling on top of Virg on the bed instead, conceding the bottle to him with another drunken giggle. As he shifts to sit up, staddling the Dutchman on the bed, he grabs for the bottle again and protests that it's actually his when it's moved out of his reach. “Come get it”, Virg offers with such cheek that it takes a moment for Alex to actually make a move for the bottle again. He's so far off his mark that Virgil just laughs at the feeble attempt. </p><p>Virgil eventually takes pity on him and offers him another couple of mouthfuls of the champagne. Alex, still straddling the taller man on the bed, shows his appreciation by grinding down against him. He's pleased with the moans that he manages to elicit from the other man, and moves his hips down against him once again for good measure. He grins at the <i>'you're such a tease, Ox'</i>, that falls from Virgil's lips and he watches as he drops back against the headboard, drawing Alex close. “Can I help you, big man?” He flashes a cheeky smile, knows that it always works in his favour, and he tries to surpress a moan as Virg bucks his hips up against him. “You know exactly what you can do to help me.” </p><p>By the time they've got their bottoms out of the way and Virgil is buried fully inside him, they've finished the first bottle of champagne. From his position on Virg's lap, he can't reach to grab for the second one, and by the look on the older man's face, he has long forgotten all about it. Instead, Virgil's concentration is fully on Alex's bum, keeping a hold of it with both hands as Alex moves up and down on him with surprising vigour given how much he's had to drink. He's humming along to the beat of 'Show Me Love' that's playing along in his head, and he looks up as he can hear a breathless laugh from Virgil. Everything about it is surreal – the buzz from the alcohol, the fact that they're finally champions, the music that's echoing in his head – and when Virgil leans forward to kiss him while mumbling the chorus of the song, it doesn't take long before Alex loses his mind, making a right mess between them in the process. It's safe to say that neither of their tops will ever look the same again. </p><p>He shifts to curl into Virgil once they've both regained control of their breathing again, and laughs as he looks down at the state of their shirts – Virg is still wearing his top the wrong way around, the gold numbers proudly jumping out from his chest. “I guess we'll have the rest of the champagne for breakfast.” He ignores the groan of protest from Virg and just nudges him with a laugh. “Come on. Hair of the dog, V.”</p>
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